Edgar Allan Poe

biography

Who was Edgar Allan Poe? He was an orphan with a troubled childhood who became America’s first great lyric poet, the inventor of the modern detective story, a pioneer of science fiction, and the master of the macabre. Over the course of just forty years, Poe became the first internationally influential American writer.

What did he write? He wrote Romantic poems of love and death like “The Raven,” “Annabel Lee,” “The Bells,” “Dream within a Dream,” “The Conquer Worm,” and many more. He also wrote tales of terror like “The Masque of the Red Death,” “The Black Cat,” and “The Cask of the Amontillado.” With his stories “Murders in the Rue Morgue,” “The Mystery of Marie Roget,” and “The Purloined Letter,” Poe became the father of modern detective fiction, but that’s not all. He also wrote science fiction. “A Descent into the Maelstrom” and “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar” are just two of Poe’s stories that expanded the style and creativity of the science fiction genre. Besides writing prose and poetry, Poe was a literary critic who got into plenty of hot water with his literary brethren because of his scathing reviews of their work. Poe was fearless when it came to ridiculing the works of other writers. Clearly, Poe was a renaissance man when it came to his explorations of the written word.

When and where did Poe live? • Born January 19th, 1809 in Boston • Orphaned and resided in Richmond 1811-1815 • Lived overseas in Scotland and England with the Allan Family 1815-1820 • Returned to Richmond 1820 • Attended University of Virginia 1826 • Enlisted in the army in Boston 1827 • From 1830-1831 Poe attended West Point in New York • Resided with his aunt Maria Clemm and his cousin Virginia Clemm in Baltimore in 1832 • Returned to Richmond, again, in 1835-1837, later brought his cousin Virginia and aunt Maria to Richmond and married Virginia. •1837 Moved to New York City • In 1838 he moved to Philadelphia and lived there for six years • Returned to New York in 1844 with his wife and mother-in-law • Moved to Fordham (now in The Bronx) with his wife and mother-in-law because he believed the country air will improve his wife’s health. She died there in 1847. • Returned, finally at last, to Richmond in 1849 and spent the last months of his life there • Died in Baltimore, while traveling, October 7th, 1849…still there today!

"The Cask of Amontillado"

‘‘The Cask of Amontillado’’ was first published in the November 1846 issue of Godey's Lady's Book, a monthly magazine from Philadelphia that published poems and stories by some of the best American writers of the nineteenth century, including Nathaniel Hawthorne Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and Harriet Beecher Stowe. The story next appeared in the collection Poe's Works, edited by Rufus W. Griswold, Poe's literary executor, in 1850. By the time Poe wrote this story, he was already nationally known as the author of the poem ‘‘The Raven’’ (1844) and of several short stories collected in a book called, simply, Tales (1845). These earlier stories were widely reviewed and argued over by critics who found them brilliant and disturbing, and their author perplexing and immoral. Although "The Cask of Amontillado'' was not singled out for critical attention when it appeared, it did nothing to change the opinions of Poe's contemporary admirers and detractors. Like Poe's other stories, it has remained in print continuously since 1850.

The story is narrated by Montresor, who carries a grudge against Fortunato for an offense that is never explained. Montresor leads a drunken Fortunato through a series of chambers beneath his palazzo with the promise of a taste of Amontillado, a wine that Montresor has just purchased. When the two men reach the last underground chamber, Montresor chains Fortunato to the wall, builds a new wall to seal him in, and leaves him to die. Several sources for the story have been suggested in the last century and a half: Edward Bulwer-Lytton's historical novel The Last Days of Pompeii (1843); a local Boston legend; a collection of Letters from Italy; and a real quarrel Poe had with two other poets. Wherever Poe got the idea and the impetus for ‘‘The Cask of Amontillado,’’ this story and Poe's other short fiction had an undisputed influence on later fiction writers. In the nineteenth century, Poe influenced Ambrose Bierce and Robert Louis Stevenson among others. Twentieth-century writers who have looked to Poe include science fiction writer H. P. Lovecraft and horror author Stephen King.

Irony and "The Cask of Amontillado"

Three Types:1. Verbal Irony: words imply the opposite of what they really mean2. Situational: A state of affairs presented the is the opposite of what is expected3. Dramatic Irony: This occurs in fiction or drama when the audience/reader knows more than than a character or characters do.

"Literary analysis: Irony in 'The Cask of Amontillado,' by Edgar Allan Poe" - by: Kerry Michael Wood "The Cask of Amontillado," by Edgar Allan Poe, blends every variation of irony as the author crafts a chilling tale of a monster, ironically named Montresor, beguiling a drunk named Fortunato into tasting a cask of nonexistent wine that he has stored in a catacomb. The names of the central characters are ironic beyond Montresor being a couple of letters from "Monster." Fortunato means the lucky or fortunate one. Montresor is French for my treasure.Three Types of Irony

1. Verbal irony involves saying one thing but meaning the opposite. Montresor is committed to the idea of killing Fortunato, so verbal irony drips from every word when Montresor, apparently worried about Fortunato's cough and the effect of the nitre-covered walls of his wine cellar, says, "You will be ill and I cannot be responsible." This is just one of repeated instances of verbal irony.

2. Irony of situation occurs when events turn out the opposite of what would ordinarily be expected. It is ironic that a man of misfortune should be named Fortunato. How fitting it is that the narrator has been able to put up with "the thousand injuries of Fortunato," but when his treasured name or reputation is insulted, he vows revenge. Also, a story titled "The Cask of Amontillado" leads readers to believe that such a wine container must exist. There is a black cat in "The Black Cat" and a pit with pendulum in "The Pit and the Pendulum." In this story, there is ironically no cask of Amontillado.. The murder's taking place during carnival season and the costumes the two men are wearing are also situationally ironic.

3. Dramatic irony is what we feel when we as readers or viewers of a story or drama know more than the characters or can interpret more accurately what they have to say. When Montresor repeats Fortunato's "Let us be gone," we understand a different meaning than does Fortunato.

"Hop Frog"

Summary: The narrator of this story, a remote third person, tells us the story of two dwarfs, Hop-Frog and Tripetta, who are ordered to help the fat king and his seven fat ministers celebrate a masquerade at court. Hop-Frog cannot tolerate alcohol, but the king forces him to drink. After the king has thrown wine in Tripetta's face, Hop-Frog sobers enough to say he'll make them all into orang-outangs for the masquerade, all the time planning his revenge for their brutality. At the masquerade he drags them up into the air and burns them alive in the costume.

Commentary: Poe, of course, is famous for his nightmarish tales. In this case, the king and his ministers are so brutish, it seems appropriate for Hop-Frog to dress them up like animals for the masquerade. And we know from the history given us that Hop-Frog and Tripetta have been captured in a foreign land and sent to the king as slave-booty, so the dwarfs have legitimate reasons to try to free themselves and escape for home.

But the entrapping of the king and his ministers in costume made of highly flammable tar and flax, their hoisting of the eight into the air and then setting them ablaze, all that seems extreme--even if understandable. Poe leads us to believe that Hop-Frog has been driven crazy by the cruelty of his king and ministers.

The Black Cat

"The Black Cat" is a short story by Edgar Allan Poe. It was first published in the August 19, 1843, edition of The Saturday Evening Post. It is a study of the psychology of guilt, often paired in analysis with Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart". In both, a murderer carefully conceals his crime and believes himself unassailable, but eventually breaks down and reveals himself, impelled by a nagging reminder of his guilt.

Edgar Allan Poe's Poetry:

Poe's work as an editor, a poet, and a critic had a profound impact on American and international literature. His stories mark him as one of the originators of both horror and detective fiction. Many anthologies credit him as the "architect" of the modern short story. He was also one of the first critics to focus primarily on the effect of the style and of the structure in a literary work; as such, he has been seen as a forerunner to the "art for art's sake" movement. French Symbolists such as Mallarmé and Rimbaud claimed him as a literary precursor. Baudelaire spent nearly fourteen years translating Poe into French. Today, Poe is remembered as one of the first American writers to become a major figure in world literature.

"The Raven"

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore - Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" - Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before - On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never - nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore:Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting - "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!

"The Raven"

"Annabel Lee"

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.

"Annabel Lee"

Is "Annabel Lee" a Ballad?Ballad Definition: A narrative poem (a poem that tells a story) that was originally composed to be sung or recited.